Its Always You
by Beccakaye11
Summary: Taking place after the episode 'His Last Vow', John finds himself worried, and constantly thinking about his best mate. Or is he more than just a friend? Sherlock is torn up after seeing Moriarty's return, and needs someone to take care of him, when in fact, John needs exactly the same. Thank you for reading! Please review if you want me to continue! xx
1. Deep Breath & A Key

John Watson took two more steps in front of his old, shared flat with his best mate. His hands shoved into his pockets, and his cheeks pink from the biting air. He walked up to the familiar door, and exhaled. He hadn't been round in weeks. Not since the stressful fiasco with Magnussen, and Sherlocks short departure. John couldn't forget that day, he remembered everything about it. From the wind, to the number of windows on the personal jet, from the way sherlocks hair slightly blew in the wind. And the face of his 'wife' almost looking content in the fact that sherlock was leaving. When John, In fact had been everything but content, more like heartbroken.

He felt as if everything was for nothing, Sherlock came back to life, only to leave him? There had to be something else, something to make him stay… He needed his flat mate, his best man, his friend. He felt guilty almost, that he was so upset by the fact that sherlock was leaving, more so than he was when his liar of a wife told him she was never in fact pregnant, and just had made it all up to keep his attention.

All the while Sherlock was explaining, saying his goodbyes, John kept praying that a sign would show. 'Give me a sign' he asked, anything, anything at all to give him the strength to say what he really wanted to say to sherlock, something to make him stay.. But it was Sherlock, he wouldn't feel the same, if he felt at all. it wouldn't mean a thing, no sign was shown, and John kept to the basics. His heart clenched when sherlock boarded the jet. Was this really the end? Was this the end to the danger,the heart stopping adrenaline, the cases and the mysteries? To them? Sure, It would be safer with Sherlock gone, And he would have a nice life with Mary. But that is all it would be… nice.

But as the jet took off, it soon turned about and headed back for the landing strip.. Johns heart quickened, and he looked around to Mycroft and Mary, for some explanation.. Was this just another rouse, something to get John to show his emotions? A game? But the look on Sherlocks face as he stepped into the cab proved otherwise.. And the look he gave after stepping out of the car made Johns heart drop. Sherlock staggered out of the cab, his face shockingly pale and his eyes wide and unfocused. He stood against the cab, his pale features giving great contrast to the black car. His knees seemed to weaken, and he slumped ever so slightly against the back end of the car. John gave another look to Mycroft and Mary, Seeing aggravation in Mary's eyes, and the slightest hint of worry in Sherlock's older brothers'.

Later that night Mary made dinner for him, which was very rare. She was trying, too hard, John barely noticed the way she was dressed or the slight hint of perfume drifting about the cozy apartment, a little bit too cozy, or suffocating for John. He sat in his armchair, not as soft as the one in his flat, _Sherlock's Flat. _He was so deep in thought, that he didn't hear her as she spoke to him handing a cup of tea, "John."  
>"Hmm?" He halfheartedly sighed, looking up and then snapping out of his thoughts, how scared Sherlock looked after seeing Moriarty's smug face on the tele. He actually looked scared, that was something John had only seen when he was put in life or death situations and Sherlock was hell bent on saving him.. John blinked and took the tea, "er.. Thanks" He felt bad, he knew he hadn't been there. And she was trying so hard to get his attention, but honestly all it did was annoy him. "Where are you right now John? All you talk about is him." She said, and it pricked him, he knew that he thought about Sherlock much more than he ought too, but he didn't realize she did too. How many others new? "I'm.. I just." John started, but she waved her hand. "You're worried about him, you think about him more than you do me, you care more about him and the bloody cases than you did about our.. about our child." She said, her voice raising. He blinked and set down his tea. "Our Child? You mean the child you lied about?The child that you made up? Jesus Mary." He said, standing up, she had clearly pissed him off. He grabbed his coat and slipped on his shoes. She swallowed, "Where are you going?" She asked, though she knew the answer. "Out. For air, I cant breathe in here, your lies are clouding up the air." He said very sarcastically. He slammed the door behind him, causing Mary to jump.<p>

John initially had just planned to go for a walk, he never intended to end up at his old flat, facing the brass knocker, and the simple but meaningful numbers in front of him, 221. He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath, momentarily turning his back to the door. What exactly was he doing? What was he going to say? Why exactly was he here in the first place? He exhaled and looked at the ground. His cheeks were pink from the cold winter air. He tugged his jacket tighter around him, he pictured Sherlocks collar, how he always popped it up against the wind, the thought of him put a smile on John's tight lips. He held up his hand to knock, but then remembered he still had a key, he always kept it in his pocket, constantly reaching in and turning the key over in his fingers. He pulled out the key, and let himself in to his old home.


	2. Cigarettes & Nightmares

John walked up the old stairs, his hand gliding along the rail, dust fell from it, and the stairs creaked under his weight. With each step memories flooded his mind, of them rushing to and from cases, adrenaline so strong you could almost smell it.. The only thing John could smell now was the faint aroma of cigarette smoke. "Shit" He muttered under his breath, and heard a faint scowl. He turned his head to face a grimacing Mrs. Hudson. "Mm, Hello Mrs. Hudson." He smiled and walked back down the stairs, bending down to give her a light hug. "John.. Watch your mouth, you boys, always saying such filthy things.." Mrs. Hudson murmured while shaking her head disapprovingly. John breathed and pulled away, uncomfortable with touching. "How is..er How is he?" He said quietly, as if Sherlock could hear them. Mrs. Hudson glanced up the dusty set of stairs and looked back down at john. "Not well, I barely hear him, Except for when hes throwing things about.. Tear up my walls you boys do, I'll have to take it out of your r- _His_ rent. How is Mary?" John shuddered at her name, "Ah, fine" He said, keeping it short. He needed to see sherlock, He had a gut feeling that it was going to be a long night. He said night to Mrs. Hudson, and ascended up the stairs. He felt anxious, the very pit of his stomach clenching, worried about what was on the other side. "He's missed you John.. You two are meant for each other.." Mrs. Hudson said rather sadly, John Jumped just slightly, he thought she had gone in her flat.

John knew Sherlock never locked the door, and was surprised when he found the doorknob jammed, locked. He breathed and pulled out his key, he figured sherlock locked it because of Moriarty's scare. His heartbeat sped up as he heard moving about on the other side, he pushed open the door to find Sherlock ready to attack with a fire poker. "Christ! Its me, Its john!" He yelled, started, standing against the door, slumping just a bit. Sherlock's shoulders relaxed and he exhaled, dropping the fire poker. "Damn, John, why didn't you knock." John simply held up his key and shrugged.. Normal guests would have knocked, he supposed. But this used to be his _flat_ too, used to be his _home_..

He looked Sherlock up and down as he slumped onto the couch. He looked like shit. He was wearing his blue dressing gown, some pajama bottoms, and his hair was madly ruffled. The dark circles under his eyes accompanied his bitten, chapped lips, he looked completely disheveled. John breathed, "Sherlock," He said, not really noticing his own voice, only the small version of his best mate slumping into the couch, he looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept or ate in days. The smell of smoke was stronger now, and he looked down to see a still smoking cigarette, he picked it up, looked at sherlock, then put it out.

"You should have called" John said sadly, sitting in his own chair after locking the door back. "And said what? John I need you, come help me, I'm pathetic?" Sherlock said, annoyance and sarcasm were heavy in his tone. His voice was considerably deeper and thick. John rolled his eyes and got up standing in front of his friend. "Yes. Quite exactly, yes." He had the strangest urge to reach out and brush his friends cheek, he held back, confused with himself. Sherlock moaned and laid down on the couch, in his sulking position, his back to the world, to john. "I'm fine.. John." Sherlock said, but it didn't convince John at all. Besides his appearance and the state of the flat, John could hear it in his voice, how his words broke over the syllables.. John clenched his teeth together and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. _Damn_ he cursed at himself, why did he do that? Why was he acting like this? So vulnerable. Sherlock relaxed under his touch, which surprised John, really, he didn't know what to expect. He pulled back and headed to the kitchen, it was an absolute mess. Sherlock turned his head when Johns touch left him, "John?" He said, more softly than before. John Turned and looked at him, "Hmm?" he answered, while picking up and old, dirty mug of tea. "You don't have to leave. ..Unless Mary is expecting you?" He said, before turning back to the couch, waiting for John's reply. John was surprised at him.. He was acting as if he cared, he smiled knowing Sherlock couldn't see him.

"Actually, She's quite pissed at me, and I left." He said, feeling weirdly okay with it. Sherlock sat up, and looked at the ground, acting as if he wasn't interested. "You left her?" He said, his voice containing the slightest bit of hope. John thought he must just be tired. "Ah, Well she lied, again. Shocker really, Im actually ridiculously stupid to not have known." He walked to the sink, washing two mugs. Sherlock looked up at him, his back. _God_ he had missed John. Seeing him stalk around the house, He missed his tea, his jumpers, his voice.. the way he smelled…

"John, _you_ are not stupid, _she_ is stupid for lying to you.. She should know only I can do that." he said, trying to make a joke out of it before it got too sensitive. Sherlock dropped his head in his hands, he never knew what to say. John smiled a bit, and put on the kettle. "What did she lie about?" _besides everything else_ Sherlock thought, and had an instant pang of hate strike him. She didn't deserve John, not his john. "The Baby." Johns voice broke a little, he was upset, but at the same time he was relieved. Now he wasn't completely tied down to Mary, He knew that was horrible… But he had fell in love with someone else, and after their marriage, when the truth came out, he tried to accept her. But his nightmares consisted of his 'wife' ,whose real name he didn't even know, killing innocent men, women, & children. He couldn't live with her, he didn't love her.

Sherlock had no clue what to say. Was he upset? Was he relieved? Was he sad? He felt everything at once, which was something he was not used to… He felt bad for his best mate, he felt mad at Mary, for breaking John over and over again, and he felt relieved… because, well he couldn't make sense of why. But it just felt right that John was back at _their_ flat. John returned to his friend with a cuppa tea and sat across from him, in his old armchair, that Sherlock had brought back from the kitchen. Sherlock took the tea, and held it in both hands, letting it warm him. He missed John's tea. "John I.." Sherlock started, but John waved his hand. "Its fine, you don't have to say anything." he took a sip of his tea and crossed his legs. "No, I do. I'm sorry that she lied, again. You deserve better. She never did deserve you." Sherlock said, looking down at his tea. John looked up at him, his brows furrowed in confusion. Sherlock had never really said something that personal or sensitive, or when he did it was extremely rare, and usually somewhat sarcastic. He smiled just a little bit, his brows still furrowed. "Sherlock, Drink, you need to drink and eat, and get a bath" He said, realizing that he sounded like a parent. "You look like shit." He complimented his best friend. Sherlock sipped his tea and raised his hand to flip John a long, slender middle finger. "Thank you John, your compassion never ceases to amaze me.. you look bad too." He said back, raising a brow. "Are you going to stay the night?" He said, the words sounded weird seeing as this used to be both of their homes. "Ah.. I might need to. I can't.. I don't want to face Mary right now." He said softly. "Yes, John, after all this is still your flat too." He said taking another sip of his tea. "However, I may have taken over your room just a bit. So I will have to tidy up." Sherlock said, John could have sworn he saw color across Sherlock's cheeks. "You? Tidy up? don't make me laugh." He said, dramatically eyeing the flat.

John opened his old door to his old room. He hadn't seen much of clutter? There wasn't much for Sherlock to tidy.. A few books here and there, a few coffee cups, and tea cups, but other than that… John stepped closer and wiped dust off his bedside table, all the while noticing his sheets were back, and his blankets were messily strewn across the bed, the exact way sherlocks were. John's brows once again furrowed, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Had Sherlock been sleeping in _his_ bed? Why? Sherlock walked into the room and bumped into John, He reached out and put his hand on John's shoulder to steady himself, And mumbled, "Sorry" But not before noticing the firm, muscular definition in John's shoulder. He withdrew his hand, and walked past John. He tugged the sheets and covers back up half heartedly. "I was meaning to change these, then something else distracted me and I left them all strewn about.." He said, kind of defensively. John nodded and slipped off his shoes. "Its fine" John said, Sherlock looked at him questioningly, "Are you going to bed now?" He asked, slight disappointment in his eyes. John saw it and felt heat return to his cheeks for absolutely no reason. "I will after you get a shower, and eat something, yes."

John laid on his bed, and listened to the slight drumming of the water in the shower. The water soon stopped, and John's eyes opened. He had only been resting. There was a knock on his door, and he sat up, Sherlock stood in the doorway, his hair wet and tousled, water still dewing on his glowing skin. He cleared his throat, "I came to inform you, that I have bathed, eaten, and I am going to bed." He said slightly sarcastically. John was aware that he might be staring, so he looked down and then back up at sherlock's bright eyes, which were without circles and much healthier. "Goodnight Sherlock." He said softly, yawning during Sherlock's name.

John didn't think about Mary at all until he fell asleep. His dreams were always the same, Gunshots, blood, bodies, and Mary standing above it all. He jolted up in his bed, his heart racing. He laid back down, and tried to calm his breathing. Then a noise made him sit up again. The noise was definitely from down the hall, it sounded as if it was coming from Sherlocks room. He rubbed his forehead and blinked a few times, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. He had no idea how late it was or how long he had been asleep, but he slowly stood, following the noise of heavy breathing and slight groaning. He was confused, he had never heard those noises from Sherlock ever before.  
>He opened Sherlock's door slowly, hoping not to wake him or startle him. He walked in the dark room, trying to feel his way to the bedside, without knocking any of the clutter over. "Sherlock." He whispered, he finally found the bed, and sat down on it gently. His eyes focused in on a distressed, dreaming sherlock. He was actually shaking, and sweating, murmuring words that John couldn't fathom. "Sherlock.." He said gently, reaching out to his friend. Sherlock gasped, grabbing Johns arm tightly. He sat up, his chest heaving, and his hair damp. "John." He said, his voice cracking. If John wasn't mistaken it sounded as if he might cry.. John had never seen him like this and he didn't have a clue how to react. With normal people you would hug them, comfort them.. But with Sherlock? He didn't ever respond to touches, to humans. John followed instinct, however wrong it might be to Sherlock. He placed the back of his hand to Sherlocks forehead, checking his temp. He was literally burning up, John placed his hand on the top of his back. His hand touching Sherlocks bare skin. Sherlock Jumped slightly at the coolness of his touch. John sat with him for a good ten minutes before coaxing him down. He got Sherlock to lay down, but he didn't want to leave him in this state.. He wondered how many times this had happened when he wasn't living here.. Is that why he slept in John's bed every night?<p>

Sherlock was still shaking pretty badly, and John was honestly quite tired, so he laid beside his friend, sherlock's back to John. He drew patterns on his back until his shaking stopped, and his breathing slowed, until he fell asleep. John woke again later, facing Sherlock's back, and his arm draped over Sherlock's side. John slowly removed his arm, and moved, trying to get up and return to his own bed, but the whimpering started up again, and his movements and shaking did too. John Grabbed his friend's shoulder, Sherlock woke again, and his eyes were leaking. "Moriar -" he started but John hushed him. "Im here, Its john, And no one else. It me I got you." He said, shocked by Sherlocks nightmares, his fear, and with himself.


	3. Spooning & Tea

John had never once seen Sherlock so vulnerable, so open, it was kind of frightening. Sherlock always had everything under control, he was cool and collected. This new side of him worried John, and no doubt Mycroft. But it was also nice, Sherlock had spent so much time being cold and factual, when sometimes John did just need someone. Maybe he was overthinking it.. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

When Sherlock woke, he was facing John's back, with his body following the shorter man's beside him. His long legs curved with John's and he was intimately close, too close, his arm protectively around the other mans ribs, and his nose almost in John's soft wavy hair. Sherlock felt strange. He had never been this close to anyone… it was new for him, to feel safe, and cared for. He didn't know if he enjoyed it or if it made him uncomfortable, or quite possibly both. He didn't know what to feel, feelings themselves were foreign to him, he stuck to science, to facts, and deductions. He could trust that, he could trust his own mind, but lately, his mind had been untrustworthy.

Every day/night, whenever he tried to close his eyes, he saw a familiar face boring into his skull. Over and over, like a hallucination, he heard four simple words that would usually mean nothing to him, but given the smug lips they escaped from, he was terrified. He had never been this scared, well, apart from when John was in danger… John, why did he care so much about his short, sassy, usually grumpy and quite untidy flat mate. He was nothing extraordinary, he had horrible deduction skills, and he was nearly incapable of making any food edible for either of them… but in other ways, he was extraordinary… He was strong, and had nerves of steel, he was compassionate, and made Sherlock a better person in every manner or the word. He made Sherlock Feel, and he cared for everyone, he _saved_ lives, while sherlock just destroyed them.. He needed his John, _John. _He made him better.

Sherlock stayed for a moment, pushing the thoughts of moriarty from his complex mind. It was almost impossible to quit thinking about it._ "Did you miss me?" _he heard, over and over, like a broken record, the face of the man that had blown his own brains out on the roof, the day Sherlock sacrificed everything in hopes that John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson would be okay… How could he possibly be alive? How? Sherlock couldn't fathom it, he saw it all with his own eyes, he saw brain matter, blood, and bits of broken skull, it made him sick, and it ruined everything…but how could he be alive?

He inhaled and managed to push the thoughts into a room and shut the door in his mind palace. The smell of John's shampoo and aftershave filled his nostrils, it was a welcomed scent, one he had missed.. He dearly hoped that John hadn't put two and two together to realized that it had been Sherlock who made a mess about his sheets. He found that sleeping in John's old room made him calmer, made his dreams less violent. That the scent of John some how eased his own thoughts and breathing, until he could get an hour or two of sleep. He hadn't expected John to return like this, none the less take care of him.. or that he would let him take care of him.. Sherlock prided himself on not needing anyone. But in fact the person he needed the most was under his arm and in his bed.

_God.._ how this must look, he said to himself, He just left Mary, and now he was in his best friends bed? But the explanation was completely logical.. Anyone would understand.. Sherlock was being haunted by someone who was meant to be dead, who died in front of his very eyes, who in fact was not dead, and was taunting him, and threatening him with four simple words. _did you miss me?_ So of course his best friend would comfort him after a night terror, by rubbing his back and stroking his hair until he fell asleep in his arms, it was all perfectly sound except.. Sherlock didn't want him to leave, he didn't want him to return to Mary, he didn't want to leave the bed, he wanted to feel safe, and cared for, and lov-. _No, focus, _he scolded himself, He didn't love anyone, he had always …cared for his older brother, and his lackluster parents.. And he cared for Hi-, for _John Watson. _And supposedly Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Lestrade as well. He didn't love, he wasn't capable of it. But he remembered the way it felt when he watch Mary and John become man and wife.. the pang, the twist in his stomach, he had to force a smile, which wasn't unusual for him, but it was to feel that upset when his best friend was getting married to a woman he loved? But, Maybe it was just his senses, picking up on Mary's past, and possibly their future.

It was strange, the warmth that touched Sherlock's skin wherever he touch John, His legs, his chest, his arm. It was strange, but welcomed, comfortable. He had never experienced the feeling, not really. He thought for a moment about his eyes, he wondered if they were dilated, and was suddenly thankful that John was still sleeping. He gently removed his arm from around John side, but was stopped by a hand. A warm, strong hand that grabbed his wrist in protest. Sherlock's own heart raced against his chest, and he didn't know why, It was just John, he had came into contact with John Multiple times. But this time, it almost felt… raw? Open? He was delirious, he hadn't slept, and he hadn't properly eaten, and it was just his mind playing tricks.

He heard John murmur, and he loosened his grip, falling back asleep rather quick. Sherlock slipped from him, and sat on the bed. He ran his hands over his face, he felt odd. He felt naked and exposed. He stood up, and stretched, careful not to knock over his miscellaneous piles of junk, experiments, and books that littered his room. He made it to the den, and walked in on Mrs. Hudson tidying. "Oh Sherlock! You startled me." She scolded, then walked towards him with his morning cuppa. "Sorry to frighten you in my own flat.." He said, his voice was gravelly, and deep. She touched his cheek, and he flinched slightly, why did old people always have the need to touch others. violating. "You look better.. did you have a shower? Have you eaten? where's John? Did he leave? Is he moving back?' She showered him with high pitched annoying questions, before Sherlock could answer, She started again. "I really like having both of you here you know, its does get quite lonely for me. I like to hear the two of you, do whatever you do up here.. You know I knew it would be hard for you when he married Mary… I was rooting for you tw-" Sherlock sat down and interrupted. "Mrs. Hudson, we need biscuits." He said coldly. She rolled her eyes at him and smack his knee, "I'm not your house keeper Sherlock, you'll do well to remember it." She coincidentally said as she dusted the mantle. "MM" Sherlock hummed into his tea, falsely agreeing with the diluted old woman.


	4. Morning shouting & Morning Groping

Sherlock touched two cold fingers to his wrist, remembering the warmth that radiated from John hand onto his. He had never really felt that before, loving touch, and it felt sorta…nice? When would John wake up? Why was it taking him so long, was he going to sleep for another hour? two? Would it be rude to wake him? Sherlocks mind raced, flooding his mind palace like rainwater, different thoughts about john, what he should do when his flat mate awoke, should he make tea? How do you say thank you to someone who comforted you over a criminal mastermind returning from the dead? Did tea cover that?

He slammed his head down into his cold hands. "Shut up" He muttered to himself, to his active mind. Mrs. Hudson turned around from the kitchen, "I haven't said anything!" She shouted, her face getting twisted, well, it was _always_ like that anyway. "Morning" John's voice broke Sherlock from his thoughts. His voice was deep, smooth and cautious, walking in on an argument between Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson was a normal thing actually. Sherlock slowly raised his head and took a side glance at John as he peered out of the flats' window. John looked well rested, his hair was ruffled in the back and slightly sticking up on the sides, It made him look younger, youthful almost. Sherlock found himself oddly smiling, he wiped it away and took a sip of his tea. "Oh John!" Mrs. Hudson gasped, and gleefully rushed to the awkward man. She kissed his cheek and gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "Sherlock and I are so glad you've moved back in-" She started, all the while making sherlock raise his brows and blush ever so slightly. "Ah," John shook his hand, and tilted his head. "I- I haven't moved back in Mrs. Hudson, I'm just …over" He said strangely, technically not knowing what he was doing, he didn't want to go back with Mary, and when he thought of home, the flat automatically popped into his mind..

"Oh.. Well you are welcome too, Sherlock gets quite lonely without you, I hear him pacing at all hours, and the experiments! hes been putting human.. human organs in my fridge! My Fridge!-" Sherlock Cleared his throat, feeling weird. "Mrs. Hudson, I thought you were going to get biscuits." He said coldly, but the sentence made a small smile appear on Johns lips. "Oh, hush Sherlock, you're so rude in the mornings. How did you sleep John? Better than with Mary?" Mrs. Hudson pushed, smiling at the two of them. John opened his mouth to protest, but then remembered technically he did 'sleep' with Sherlock the night before, and he did sleep exceptionally better than he did with Mary.. "We didn't.. I did" he said shortly, confusing himself. Mrs. Hudson winked at the two of them, before sherlock flung his teacup against the wall, causing it to shatter. Mrs. Hudson jumped, her jaw dropping. "Sherlock!" She howled, He shrugged and looked at her sarcasm in his eyes. "Well looks like you really need to go to the store now, to get cups _and_ biscuits." John nearly choked on laughter, god he missed this, _Sherlock._

_"_Sherlock, If you wanted to be alone with him you should have sa-"

"Mrs. Hudson" The two of them said in sync. She threw up her hands and walked out huffing.

The pair of them waited for her to get down the stairs before bursting out in laughter. John was the first to quieten, his gaze fell on Sherlock, remembering the fragile, more sensitive and lovable version of his friend from the previous night. Sherlock now sat in his dressing robe and pajama pants, his pale chest showing between the open folds of the robe, john willed himself to look away, but couldn't deny that it was hard.

John cleared his throat and walked into the kitchen, Set on making a cup of tea, Sherlock then remembered that he had planned on making the _'thank you for comforting me because Moriarty is or isn't dead and is scaring me to death'_ cup of tea. Sherlock rushed past him and put his hand out. "Let me" He said, and then mentally cursed himself for saying that _let me, let me over eager, annoying, childish,loving._ "Let you.. make me.. a cup of tea? You're rubbish at tea, thats why Mrs. Hudson makes it.." John said comically. He pushed in front of Sherlock and grabbed a mug, that may or may not be clean depending on how close you inspect. Sherlock pushed him with his shoulder, "I make great tea, you just dont appreciate it. Move." He said, John laughed and grabbed the mug back from Sherlock "I want to make my own tea" He said, slightly grinning way too much. "Nonsense, no one wants to make their own tea, hence Mrs. H" Sherlock said, and pushed past him once more, sloppily grabbing two tea bags. John huffed and tried to grab the mug once more, before Sherlock moved, and John mistakenly grabbed Sherlock's waist. His touch lingered for a moment after he removed his hand, his own cheeks hot. "I don't mind" Sherlock said a little too quickly. Remembering his more drunken self on John's stag night, when the same thing happened more or less, but he really _didn't_ mind. _SHIT, too eager sherlock, god what is wrong with you, too eager, too annoying, he is going to run, he is going to go back to mary, and you're going to be alone. _John smiled awkwardly, letting Sherlock make the tea to avoid that happening again. Sherlock kept thinking and thinking _too eager too eager, damn why do you care so much, this is petty. _Before he shouted "Shut up" To himself, only out loud once more. John snapped his head around. "You alright mate?" He said raising a brow and a corner of his mouth. "Hmm? Fine, Mind palace" He said quickly, _Damn it Sherlock, Just make the tea_.


	5. Spilled tea & Late night confessions

John sipped his tea quietly. It was surprisingly good for Sherlock. Who rarely made anything for John, it was a nice change, but not the only one he noticed. He couldn't get the image of Sherlock curled up against him out of his head, or the way His long lanky, but surprisingly muscular arm wrapped around John for most of the night. It was just…weird. Sherlock went from being an antisocial, sociopath, to being his best friend, to being something..more? _No, john stop it._ All it was, was that Sherlock was scared, he was tired, and needed someone. And John just happened to be there at the right time. But even so, it was so unlike Sherlock. To be..vulnerable, to be needy, to be loving? John desperately wanted to say something, but didn't know how, did he just let this slide? Forget about it? Was that what Sherlock wanted? Did he want something more.? John shook his head, and spilled his tea on his lap accidentally. "Damn it!" he shouted, the hot tea seeping into his thin trousers. Sherlock's eyes snapped up to John and pulled him from his thoughts about the previous night. He looked down to see Johns tea had spilled onto his already too thin trousers. He bit his lip and stood, going for a cloth.

He knelt down to eye level while John sat in his chair, pants soaked, and a frequent stream of profanities falling from the doctors lips. Sherlock couldn't help but snort at him, "John, its only tea I think you'll live." He started to dab Johns thigh, and then realized that might not be appropriate, he handed the cloth to John and took his teacup back to the kitchen. John exhaled and stood, why was everything so weird! he hated the tension, it made him feel out of place, and awkward. "Sherlock" He said taking a deep breath. He got a noncommittal "Hmm?" from his flatmate, but none the less he decided he needed to be frank. He was so much more than just a flat mate, a best man, best friend, sociopath, he was Sherlock. And John loved him.

He shook his head, and sighed, nope, not today. He made it to his room and stripped off his tea soaked pants. He punched his hand into his dresser. Dust flittered to the ground and he cursed. "Damn." Everything was so complicated, of course, thats the way it had to be didn't it? Since he 'chose' this type of lifestyle, since he 'craved' danger and adrenaline. He didn't admit to it, but he didn't deny it. It was liberating solving cases, running round london, catching criminals, saving lives. He would have died so many times without Sherlock, He owed him so much, he cared about him so much. When Mary told him about the baby, the first thing John thought of was what Sherlock would say, how Sherlock would react, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Yet he couldn't tell the man that he owed so much to, thought about constantly, worried about, cried over, mourned over, pined over, that he loved him? _Im not gay._ He told himself, over and over, nearly every time Sherlock looked at him, every time they bumped into each other, every time Sherlock said something remotely nice..

"John?" A voice called from behind the door, he looked down and remembered he was in his red underpants, and also that he had punched the dresser. "Yeah" He replied slipping on another pair of pants, and opening the door to a worried Sherlock. "Are you okay, I heard.." "Im fine, Just stubbed my foot on the dresser," _actually i punched it because i don't know how i feel about you and you make me nervous and flighty. "_Hm okay" Sherlock said and loitered off to the den, plopping onto the couch loudly.

John sat on the edge of his bed, taking his sore hand into his other, running his thumb over his knuckles. _Im not gay._ he said, but really when he thought of Sherlock, he didn't apply to gender.. He was just.. Sherlock, he was different, intrinsic, and eccentric, new and fresh and different. Maybe he was bi? Was that a possibility? did he feel the way he thought he felt..

"Just fucking do it John" He said to himself, and heaved himself out the door and into the den.

"Sherlock, I need to tell you something." Sherlock turned his head, then sat up. "Go on" He said matter of factly.

"The day you.." he stopped and sat down, not sure how his knees would hold him. Sherlock placed his hands palm-to-palm and the tips of his fingers right below his chin. Listening, intrigued. He watch his doctor as he tried to speak. He tried not to deduce anything from it, John did hate that.. he could tell that John was anxious, that his heart was beating irregularly. He looked warmly at the other man and pursed his lips, waiting for the rest of the doctor's sentence. "The day you - hmm- the day you died." He said, holding his hand out, then covering his mouth. Sherlock instantly felt guilty, and bit his lip, not sure how he liked this new emotion. Nope, he didn't like it at all, he felt sick, and ..sorry. He could read the pain in Johns eyes, the memories, and the sadness. He cleared his throat to fight back his own feelings. "That day, was- the worst day of my life, with out a doubt." He said his voice cracking beneath the pressure of his words. "When you were about to board that Jet-about to leave me- again." He stopped once more, and blinked. He made a point NOT to look into Sherlocks eyes, or in his general direction at all.

Sherlock felt an overwhelming need to say something, to apologize, which he was not good at, To stop John. It hurt to know that he had caused John so much pain. And it was literally his fault. "John- Plea-" He started and was cut off. "Please let me finish Sherlock" He said, halfheartedly, he didn't want to say what he needed to, he didn't want to say the rest of his speech, he didn't want to see disgust, or rejection, or confusion on Sherlock's face. Sherlock nodded and sat back. "That day, might have been the second worst day of my life, besides all the shit with Mary." He said rather casually, that brought a smile to Sherlock's face, which soon disappeared remembering that Mary had caused him so much pain, and he hated her for breaking John's heart. Hate.. that was new.

"I had so much to say, So much, we have been through so much, so many cases, and runs, and just living with you, we have so much to say..But I couldn't, I didn't want, I dont know.." John started loosing his words. Sherlock sat on the edge of the sofa now, his own heart beating too quickly. "John" Sherlock said softly, his voice was tender, and it made John's breathing hitch. "Sherlock, I wanted to tell you something before you left. And then you came back, and I couldn't. I was a coward." Sherlock stood at that, and moved towards him, "You, John Watson are many things, but a coward is not one of them. - I had something to tell you, before I left, but I too couldn't force the words from my lips, but now I don't think I need to.." He said, a grin forming on his mouth, a sheepish one, that made him light up and look surprisingly childish. John thought for a moment he had completely stopped breathing. What exactly was happening? What did Sherlock think? What was he doing, he was so close, so close to coming out to his flat mate about his feelings, and now Sherlock, he had something to share. But he couldn't protest, he found himself standing up, looking up to Sherlock.

Sherlock's hand came about John's cheek, just slightly, his fingertips barely brushing John's skin. Enough to make Johns knees shake, and his heart pound. WHAT, was happening. Did Sherlock feel the same, was this a joke? A sick game? "John, I - I need you to be honest with me" His hand dropped, and a pang of sadness tinged his eyes.

Johns own heart dropped and he looked up at his detective, confused. "I won't be mad, I wont be upset, but I want to know if you are in love with Mary." He said gently, but avoided eye contact. "If you are thats fine, I won't bother you any further. But If you do.. If you do anything, do not do it lightly, because I can't take it. I cant lose you John" Sherlock said, and John forgot how to speak. He simply, took Sherlock's hand, and stood on the tips of his toes.


End file.
